The Lumberjack's Wife

Let us continue on with the illustrations about the crazy world I call home, shall we?  Today, I was chatting with a few other ladies about our manly-man-hunter-husbands.

Here’s the sitch:

1)  All of them have tasted, and enjoy venison/elk/moose, etc.

2)  Many have also helped grind their husbands’ kill.  And none of them understood why I was scarred for life.

3)  And, lastly but not leastly, one gal, who enjoys hunting as much as her husband, just pops her screens out her window and shoots her meat right from her house.

Because this is where I live, where I dwell.  These are my people.  We are one and the same.  Kinda.

My dad was not a hunter man, so this whole hunting world is just so strange to me.  David saw this little newspaper clip and told me it reminded him of yours truly:

(source)

And while we are on this lovely topic, let us reward the COW.

The COW stands for the Comment of the Week and in no way refers to anything my husband may or may not have shot.

Leanna wrote:

Now, my Daddy was also known to pick up ROAD KILL and feed it to his family (that would be me). Oh yes, oh yes he did. Fresh road kill, mind you. We would drive to church down this one particular back country road and I kid you not, he picked up three or four huge dear that had “just been” hit by vehiculars. Most times, the car that hit it was still there and he started carrying a TARP around in the back seat because there was no way no how that he was letting that critter go to waste.

I’m happy to say I’m still alive and we never contracted Road Kill’itis. I’m also happy to say I married a man who refuses to eat venison, or anything other than beef, pork and chicken because quite frankly, I was foundered on venison. Absolutely foundered.

The end, brave woman, the end.

Remind me to hide all tarps from my husband. Let us move on.

The girls and I are boarding a plane for Tennessee on the morrow.  In order to accomplish this, we will have to leave the house at 4am.  This means my boys are going to be hellions.  Maybe I should fill their sippy cups with coffee to help perk them up?  It always works for me.

We are off to see my dear friend Bimlissa, or as she is known everyone else, Melissa.  Bimlissa has a daughter my girls’ age, and they have missed their friend so.  The three of us are very excited about our trip.  I believe we will be driving to the American Girl store in Atlanta during the trip.

This may cause my girls to have heart attacks.  Their dolls are all dressed and ready to go.  They are not to be packed in the suitcases, but must be in the carry on bag.  Because everyone knows that dolls love plane rides.  I am just hoping the doll season lasts awhile longer.  I am not ready for my girls to grow up.

Anyways, I might be a bit quiet for awhile.  But would you all mind praying for my dad?  He is having some scary health problems and the doctors cannot figure out what is wrong with him.

Thank you all and have a lovely week!

Well.  I am sure you have all been on pins and needles . . . just dying to know if I did, in fact, grind up an elk this weekend.

Yes, folks.  Yes, I did.  And it wasn’t as glamorous as one might think.

Now, I put on Facebook that I was going to do said grinding, and people were mentioning that I should be thankful for all the fresh meat for my family . . .

Oh.  I’m thankful!  But, does that mean I can’t be grossed out?  It is a blessing to know you won’t starve.  We could live off of elk and applesauce out here for months.  MONTHS, I tell ya!

But I still maintain that it is nasty . . . what with all the blood and hair and general carnage.

Yet, this is the way people are in these here parts.  Allow me to explain by telling you a story . . . a little illustration, if you will.

On Friday night, we went to the local Walmart.  Our local Walmart is almost an hour away from Ruralville.  Because Ruralville is THAT cool.  At Walmart, David purchased freezer paper to wrap the meat that we would soon be grinding.

So, without further ado, I shall present to you:

A Closer Look Into The People that Live in My Region

Helpful Walmart Associate Lady:  What did you kill?

David:  An elk.

Helpful Walmart Associate Lady:  Good for you!  Huntins’ been terrible this year.  I don’t hardly know no one who got nothing.

David:  Yeah.

Helpful Walmart Associate Lady:  Get a bull, did ya?

David:  No, just a cow.

Helpful Walmart Associate Lady:  Still good eatin’ . . . still good eatin’.

David:  Yup.

Helpful Walmart Associate Lady:  I got nothin’ this year.  Under shot a bull on opening day.  Darn semi-blahblahblah froze up on me blahblahblah.  I tell ya what a blahblahblahblahblah.  Huntins’ been terrible. Can’t believe it.  My brother got a nice 4×4.  Real nice.

Lest any of you are confused, the blahblahblah parts refer to the words that I either a) did not understand or b) was not interested in.

David:  Yeah.

Helpful Walmart Associate Lady:  Well, have fun!

And fun we did have.  The next day, David’s hunting friend came.  We’ll call him Earl, because that sounds about right.  Earl did not bring his wife, so I stayed in the house at first and caught the girls up on some school.  About three hours later, I went out to see if I could offer them coffee.

Next thing I knew, I was changing into a flannel shirt and getting ready to load elk flesh into a meat grinder.

I will have you all know that I kept my uber cute earrings in.  A girl has to be fashionable, no matter what the occasion.  Holla!

So, I stuffed meat into that grinder and removed the occasional elk hair that would come my way.  Then I helped wrap and freeze the meat, counted my blessings to have a freezer full of FRESH meat, and vowed to become a vegetarian.

I told Earl that I was contemplating switching to the vegetarian team.  He informed that his wife was a vegetarian when he first met her.

“Yeah.  But I set her right.  One day I came home and she had caught and killed two squirrels and cooked them up for my lunch.  Been eatin’ meat ever since.”

And THAT, dear readers, is just a little glimpse of where I come from.  If you were curious.  And you know you were.

Don’t be jealous.

Today, I made a ukulele out of cardboard.  And it has been the highlight of my day, if that tells you anything.  Oh!  And I did give my mom a Facebook profile picture.  Sister Meagan and I are basically doing Facebook for mother.  So, that’s progressive.  Maybe next month, we’ll tell her what her password is.

Speaking of mother and Facebook, let’s do the COW.

This week’s goes to Mindee.

I’m kind of tempted to try to friend your mom just to see if she’ll
a) freak that strangers are stalking her via facebook or
b) accept my friend request and pretend she knows me and spend three days racking her brain trying to figure out how.

Do it, Mindee!  It will bring me much amusement.

It’s been a blah day today.  A day in which I wonder why on earth I am homeschooling.  I have those days often, it seems.  We have lots of things to do because on Tuesday, the girls and I are boarding a plane and heading to Tennessee!  For to see Bimlissa!

It occurred to me that we get back on the 30th at 11pm.  Therefore, I need to figure out Halloween costumes.  And I loathe Halloween costumes.  LOATHE.  We raided the dress up bin and found the following:

Little Dude:  Cow

Handsome Dude:  Monkey (Repeat from last year.  We don’t care and neither should you.)

Daisy Mae:  Tinkerbell

Sweet Pea:  American Girl Molly when she was dressed up as a hula girl.  But everyone will just think she is a hula girl.  But we shall pretend, because I don’t have time for her to come up with something else.

Sweet Pea’s costume is why I made the cardboard ukelele, if you must know.  And all I need to purchase is a lei for Sweet Pea to adorn around her neck and we are ready for stupid Halloween.  Of which I loathe.

In other news, I am loving Pinterest.  I found two homeschool lessons on there this very afternoon!  I also have an entire pinboard devoted to crafts I want to do, but am unable to, due to my lack of a brain, general hand/eye coordination, and sewing skills.  Or skillz.  Whichever you prefer.  This pinboard is suitably named:

“Crafts to Talk Lisa into Doing With Me.”

Lisa is my sister-in-law.  Please try to keep up.  She is more woman that I’ll ever be.  And she even has an extensive knowledge of power tools. She is probably at home darning socks or sewing a new slip cover for her couch at this very moment and NOT reading this blog.  But what-ev. She is crafty.  I am not.

Here are some of things that Lisa (hint, hint) should do with me.  Sometime.  Soon.

Flower Wreath

And this one:

T-Shirt Ruffle Scarf

While we are at it, someone needs to show me how to properly wear a scarf.  Because that is also something I fail at.

(If anyone needs an invite to Pinterest, email me at thelumberjackswife@gmail.com.  If you want to follow me on Pinterest, here I am)

While we are on the topic of Things Taylor Is Not Good At, let us talk about my poor skills as a hunter’s wife.

Now.  People.  There is an elk carcass hanging from the ceiling in my garage at this very moment.  I believe it is there to dry out the blood.  If you must know.

Tomorrow a hunting-man-friend of David’s is coming over to help us grind the meat ourselves so we do not have to pay anyone to do so.

Ew.

Quick!  Help me come up with reasons why I can’t be out there grinding said meat!  I think I am going to use the kids as an excuse.

But, pray tell, what shall I do if Hunter-Man-Friend brings his wife?  Oh, for the embarassment of it all.  I can’t be inside while the three of them are grinding (ew) away!

Maybe I need to get the flu?

Please Advise.

David drives a work van to work.  No!  He is not a lumberjack.  He is an electrician.  I don’t understand why everyone is so confused about this?  Anyways, my boys think that work vans are the coolest thing in the world.  And they are.  Obviously.

Yesterday during Bible class, we were talking about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.

I would like everyone to know that I spelled those three names correctly on the first try.  Be impressed.

I was explaining that Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego worked for the King.

Handsome Dude, in his most scholarly voice:  Yeah.  And they drove a work van everyday to work.

I thought my girls would never recover.

Later on in the day, I was reviewing our Latin sounds and vocabulary.

Yes!  I teach Latin.  Be impressed.

Anyways, Daisy Mae kept getting confused on the letter A sound in Latin.  “A” in Latin sounds more like “ah” as in “father.”  So, I kept going over the sound with her.  Little Dude was just above us in the loft, playing trains, as per his usual custom.

Me:  What does “A” say?

Little Dude, SHOUTING, because that is what he does best: A like Apple!

Poor Daisy Mae could never even think about what I was asking her.  Mr. Know-It-All just kept shouting the “A is for Apple” phrase over and over in his most “why AREN’T you getting this?!” voice.

Young children and school.  So helpful.  So wonderful.

I was talking with my friend, Rita, yesterday, who is also a homeschooling marm.  We were discussing the young children and homeschooling conundrum.  I am sure many of you fellow homeschooling marmies also have this issue.

So.  What are your tricks for occupying your little ones while you homeschooling your older ones?

Here is what I do.  And my house is always in a peaceful, happy state, so you should take heed of my advice.

1)  If the boys are on the main floor, which is where we are homeschooling, they must be playing quietly.  I have puzzles, blocks, coloring supplies, etc that they can do.

2)  They can sit at the table and do “work” with us, but they must keep quiet.

3)  If they want to race trucks through the house and yell and holler to each other, they have to go downstairs.  And trust me.  This is their favorite activity, bless their hearts.

4)  I have a whole hope chest thing full of special activities they can do during school:  lacing cards, pattern blocks, games, puzzles, etc.

This plan is working very well this year and I have hardly ever had to resort to using the television.

Holla!

***

Last night, I went shopping.  All by myself.  Can you believe it?!

As I was paying for my items, the sales gal noticed my wallet.  And rightly so, because my wallet is uber cute.

I don’t know if any of you are familiar with Dave Ramsey, but we try to do his “cash envelope” system.  Anyways, one of my biggest problems was I would always leave the huge, bulky envelope system thing at home.  Which is super unhelpful when you are trying to buy stuff with cash.  So, I ordered a wallet that has the cash envelopes built right in.

I love it!  It’s the cutest thing since sliced bread!  I got it from Melissa from A Time for Everything.

Anyways, if any of you are interested in such a thing, you should check her out her shop.  She has lots of cute stuff.  And you know I wouldn’t lie.

Alright.  I must now begin the homeschooling.  Feel free to share any homeschooling tips and tricks for the young ones in the comments.

Have a lovely day!

Little Dude insists on wearing his underwear backwards.  Because that looks comfortable.  Me:  Dude, your underwear is on wrong.

Little Dude, looking at his *ahem* “areas”: No!  Its not wrong!

Me:  Yes, they are.

Little Dude, shouting because I anger him so:  NO, MOM!  YOU CAN’T SEE MY *UNIT*!  ITS NOT WRONG!

Apparently, Little Dude feels that as long as cloth is covering the area, he is in the clear.

Lest any of you are confused, he used the “p” word.  I don’t think I can say the “p” word on my blog.  It seems a bit shady.

When I first had my girls, I refused to use the proper names for private parts.  Because I am mature like that.  I would call the aforementioned areas “front bottom” and “back bottom.”  This is what my mother taught me, and I carried the torch to the younger generations.

So I have no idea how it came to be that my boys say the “p” word so freely.

Once they were in the bath together and I caught them standing up and dancing all around singing:

“Shake your booty!  Shake your booty!”

Shocked I quickly became at the thought of my boys knowing, and gyrating to, a song such as this.  I can only assume it was from the influence of their big sisters.

Again, I do not know how the girls’ heard this song.  I can’t even blame their school. Anyways, the boys were singing that vile song.

Me:  Boys!  You cannot sing about shaking your booty!

Boys:  O-Tay, Mom!

So, I started to leave when I heard:

“Shake you *unit*!  Shake your *unit*!”

And they were giggling and laughing and, yes . . . they were shaking their *units.*

Me:  No!  No shaking that!

Handsome Dude:  What can we shake?

Me:  Your heads.

So there they were.  My two precious, albeit naked boys, sitting in the bath and bobbing their heads all around whilst singing:

“Shake your head!  Shake your head!”

Raise your hand if you think Taylor will not survive the teenage years.

Let’s move on!

I got a comment and it excited me, as comments do, but this one sorta weirded me out.

The comment was from “Paul.”  Now, my father-in-law’s name is Paul and he talks endlessly about how he feels I should write a book.

“Taylor, if you write a book, I’ll read it!”

“Taylor, you future writer you!”

“Taylor, one of these days, I’m gonna find that blog of yours on the Internet!”

Yes.  That will be swell.  So, if he hasn’t found my elusive blog, than why does he think I should become a writer?

Well.

I don’t know.  Perhaps my emails are well-written and witty.  I think I have emailed him thrice.  But, anyways, I saw a comment from “Paul” and I thought:

“Oh, snap!  He found it!”

And I was secretly relieved that I have always refrained from typing out the “p” word.  You see, people!  There is a method to my madness.

But as I began to read the comment, I began to doubt it was the Paul I know, as he was professing his love to my blog and declaring me his long lost friend.  Which was even more awkward than the “p” word.

So, I looked at the email.  It was from someone named Paul the Ripper.  And I don’t think I should trust anyone with the last name of “The Ripper.”

I look at the comment again, and it seemed familiar.  It was an old comment from Tanna a year ago that a spammer had copied and tried to get me to approve!  I never heard of such a thing!

Such trickery!  Such deception!

So, there you go, fellow bloggers.  Be alert!  Be on guard!  The spammers are crafty these days!

Alright.  Peace out.

My husband, bless his heart, finds it quite humorous to pull the childrens’ pants up extremely high and shout:

“Let’s wear our pants as high as Mommy!”

Allow me to give you a visual, courtesy of Little Dude and his now sore bum.

That David.  What a punk.  And to think I even missed him whilst he was gone.  No!  I do not wear my pants that high!  I don’t think.

Attention People Who Know Me in Real Life Who Feel My Pants are Worn This High:  Please pull me aside next time you see me and inform me of this atrocity.

Much appreciated.

So, yes. The mighty hunter has returned.  He, along with his hunting beard, came home last night.  And, yes.  He shot (not caught!  I finally learned to not say that!) a cow.

Not a moo cow.  An elk cow.  Keep up!  Since the elk was not a bull, there is no picture because there was no rack.  And hunters are only interested in the racks, didn’t you know?  And, yes, I will probably be getting some immature comments about racks.  It is to be expected.  The elk came home in meat bags and is now hanging in the garage to dry.

This means I cannot go in my garage for a few days.

Mother called me last night, as she is wont to do, and asked me if David “caught” anything.  She is clearly not a hunter’s wife.  I told her David “caught” an elk.

Mom:  Oh!  Is this his first elk?

Me:  No.  Hello?  Mom?  I’ve had to cook elk all year?  Remember?

Mom:  Oh.  My bad.

Goodness.  Someone needs to be a little more invested in her daughter’s life, I see.

I would like to report that I have yet to taste elk.  Yes.  I know you are impressed. Oh, I’ve cooked it for about a year now.  I just don’t try it.  My family LOVES it.  What is wrong with them?

I could ask around for some recipes and whatnot, but herein lies the problem:

THE RECIPE WOULD CONTAIN BITS OF ELK

And that is something that I just cannot come to terms with.  I might need to become a vegetarian.  Meat is just so animal-ish.

Bleh.

But life is not all about me (shocker!), so I am happy for my husband.  Killing animals tends to excite him.  And it is good to have him home and all clean-shaven.

Random-Topic-Quick-Change!

Are you sitting down?  I have some news for you.

My mother has joined The Facebook.

I KNOW!  She did it just to join Pinterest and then she was going to delete it and within about 2 hours she had over 50 friends!

It hurts when you discover your mom is cooler than you.

I wrote on her wall, because I can now:

Me:  You need a profile picture.  FYI.

Mom: Yes, but I think I need multiple pictures to be able to get all grandchildren/kids in and maybe even pops! Meagan says I need to take my birthdate off my profile. Do I really need to answer whether I like males or females? Goodness I am feeling old!

Oh, wow.  This is going to provide so much entertainment for me.

Tomorrow!  My husband is coming home tomorrow, the fearless hunter that he is.  He did come home on Thursday for a bit to unload some wood and check on me and my lovely self.  And I was fine, thank you for asking.

Yes.  My husband lumberjacks whilst he hunts.  He is all that is man.

So, he unloaded wood and inspected the homestead and drove back into the woods to live his dream.  Or whatever it is he is doing out there, bless his heart.

I thought I had better clear something up with y’all.  He doesn’t call me because he doesn’t have cell service.  He’s not a meanie pants and of course I could call him, but I think it would seem obsessive to keep trying his number to see if he miraculously has service.  So, if he is ever out hunting and for some reason gets service, he will call me on his hunting trips.

But he hasn’t.

I am a terrible single person.  I stay up way too late and eat like 10 rounds of snacks.  And I’m never hungry, but I feel I must snack.  I had popcorn and hot chocolate at 11:30 the other night.  Why?  I cannot be certain.  But I am certain it was not conducive to my plan to lose two pounds before he came home.  Because every hunter hopes to come home to a wife who weighs two pounds less, didn’t you know?  I’m such a failure.

So, here’s what we’ve been up to, because I know you always love to hear the latest.

1)  My friend, Amanda, and her brood came over on Thursday night.  We chatted and ate tacos while our combined 8 children played.  I have been friends with Amanda since kindergarten.  Yes.  She’s feigned interest in my nonsense for THAT many years.  She is a gem of a friend.  It was lovely and hectic.  We have no idea how we got to have so many children.

?

2)  Glasses.  Oh my goodness gracious.

Ok.  Do you remember how David went and purchased glasses from a different person than my favorite glasses place in the world and I wept and wailed and didn’t like it?

Just say you remember.  The story will go much fast that way.

Long story short:  the new ones that were supposed to be indestructible are constantly broken and the guy there is not nice about fixing them.

So, I took the old glasses that go with MY people in yesterday, and wouldn’t you know they “temporarily” fixed the obliterated ones and ordered new frames.  They told me they wouldn’t charge me for the frames because “I just barely made it in before the warranty expired.”

They have been saying that since August.  And I have gotten 3 new pairs since August.  For FREE.

And the people were kind and pleasant and chatty and lovely and can we not all agree that I win the glasses debate?

Say yes.  Taylor wins.

3)  However, if the glasses break again, Bob, who is one of my bff at the glasses place, suggests we get some different frames that will not break, but will make my child look like a “space man.”

4)  Would you all join me in praying that the glasses that make my child look like a “child” will not break and we will not have to buy the new “space man” glasses?

Many thanks.

5)  I went to my sis-in-law, Lisa’s house.  We made cookies!

Handsome Dude (sporting his temporarily fixed glasses.  Holla, Glasses-Fixer-Man-Bob!) was uber serious about the cookie creations.

Daisy Mae never stops talking.  Ever.

Well.  Maybe when she is eating.  But then, it is right back to chit chat.

My little niece sampled the cookies.

She approved.

6)  I went to church with my OTHER sis-in-law, Holly.  I have so many sis-in-laws to choose from.  My cup runneth over.

I will have you know that THREE, count them, THREE people told me I looked good last night at church . . . for a person who lives in Ruralville.

I would like you all to analyze this and tell me what it means post haste.

7)  My Auntie Datenut sent a box of odds and ends for the kids to go through.  It was extremely exciting for them.  Thanks, Auntie!

What a fantastic picture, per usual.

Allow me to give you a few blog picture taking tips. You’re welcome.  Feel free to bookmark this page and share with your loved ones.

Tip #1:  Get a toilet in the background.  Your blog readers like to be reminded that you are a real person with real, human body functions.

Shoot!  That reminds me that someone made a peepee mess on one of the toilets and I forgot to clean it up.  Now, I am forlorn.

Tip #2:  If you can, place a basket of shoes behind the children.  It will make any picture look snazzy.

Tip #3:  Don’t worry about the IPod docking station cords.  No one will ever notice.

Tip #4:  Have one child show the camera his/her foot.  Everyone loves a good foot in their pictures.

Tip #5:  If you can, make sure to abide in a home that has every wall painted peach.  You will be the envy of blogland.

Alright!  I’m back to work.  I foolishly decided to wash ALL the bedding today and I am TOTALLY regretting it.

Totally.

Little Dude hates ice cream.  Could that kid be any weirder?

To hate ice cream is so against the Maliblahblah Family Code of Conduct.  When David was a young lad growing up, they could only have ice cream on Friday nights.  When I first met him, I thought this was a little odd and extreme.  Now that I am raising 4 kids on one income, I think it is brilliant.

ANYWAYS.  When we got married, David completely rebelled and deemed every night to be ice cream night.  He’s so defiant and edgy!  Excuse me while I swoon.

Back to Little Dude.  He hates ice cream.  When we go to an ice cream shop, he demands an ice water and is happy as a clam.   And we all know clams are uber happy.

Last night, after Awana, my parents and I decided to take the kids out for frozen yogurt.  We tricked Little Dude by calling it “yogurt.”  He loves him some yogurt.  As soon as we got there, he yelled in fury:

“This not yogurt!  This ice cream!  I HATE ice cream!”

Could he get any weirder?

While we were enjoying our treats, my mom and I started talking about Pinterest again.

Mom:  I tried to create a Pinterest account, but I couldn’t.

Me:  Why not?

Mom:  It says I need a Facebook account and I don’t have one.

Me:  Give me your phone.  Let me see if I can sign you up.

Mom:  Ok.  But I can’t figure out how to check my email on my phone!

Dad:  I know how!

Me:  Ok.  Not relevant.

So, I try to sign her up and she is right-she needs a Facebook or Twitter account.  I am not even going to mention Twitter because I fear her brain would explode.

Me:  I can set you up with a Facebook account.

Mom (wincing in pain):  I don’t know if I can do it!

Me:  You don’t have to do anything.

Mom (now wincing in agony):  But do I have to get on there every five minutes and update people on what I am doing?  Like, “I’m going to the bathroom now!”

Me:  Yes.

Goodness.  Where does this woman get these ideas?  She is beyond help.  Anyways, she is still battling with her Facebook fears, and I am not sure she will ever be able to come to the dark side.

Some of you asked me to follow you on the Pinterest.  And that is all fine and dandy and I think I got those of you who asked.

If you want to follow me, here is my account.

Warning:  I am not creative nor crafty nor aesthetically pleasing in any area of my life.

Thank you.

PS-David did not call me yesterday.

*tear*